Poem: A Ballade of Books by S. Elliott Napier

Crude, garish, and much-batter'd band, Now long-neglected and forlorn;Unkempt, unlovely, there they stand. Their bindings loose, their pages torn And much by moist young fingers worn;Yet once what magic broth they'd brew -- Those books we smile at now with scorn -- The good ship Faery's wondrous crew!

Crusoe, affrighted on the sand, "Brer Rabbit," chuckling in the thorn,Fair Alice, down in Wonderland, And Vanderdecken on the Horn -- Fiend-driven, reckless, and foresworn, These were our own, tried thro' and thro', Whose friendship could no bribe suborn -- The good ship Faery's wondrous crew!

Crooning their songs upon the sand, The sirens knew us; 'mid the corn The poppy elves would hold our hand And with their blooms our brows adorn. With eastern djinn and Northern Norn We childishly familiar grew; For they in those old books were born -- The good ship Faery's wondrous crew!

L'Envoi.

Crusader Time! Thy sword hath shorn And purged full many a faith deem'd true.And so with ours -- but, ah! we mourn The good ship Faery's wondrous crew!First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 23 October 1926